Schmidt goes to jail
by Bookjunk
Summary: One-shot. After Schmidt has a little 'incident' his friends have to pick him up from the county jail.


**Schmidt goes to jail**

'Schmidt, what did you do?'

They had debated in the car what could have landed him in jail, but the trouble was that it was Schmidt. With him you never knew. It could be _anything_. Well, anything short of murder. Though Winston had argued that he could envision Schmidt accidentally killing someone in a decidedly uncool way.

His head bowed in shame – a shame that far surpassed the time he had drunkenly tried to kiss Jess – Schmidt told the whole sordid story. And low and behold, it was both less and more awful than what they had managed to imagine on the ride over to bail him out.

In fact, Nick was sorry that he had asked, because the offense smacked of the sort of stupidity that only Schmidt was capable of. He did love to see Schmidt squirm, though, so maybe he wasn't all that sorry.

'So, you're a stalker,' Nick eventually said, when they had piled into the tiny car. He caught Schmidt's indignation in the rear view mirror as he steered onto the main road.

'I'm not. I just...'

'You were trying too hard. You always do,' Jess interrupted him. Winston was smirking and she shot him a stern glance. Patting Schmidt's shoulder, in what was supposed to be a consoling gesture, Jess only succeeded in making him feel more miserable.

'It's creepy,' Winston remarked. Nick shifted lanes, awaiting the reaction that was sure to come.

'It's not.'

All three stared at Schmidt – Nick in the rear view mirror, since he couldn't very well turn around while driving - until he lowered his eyes.

'Come on, Schmidt. You know it's creepy,' Nick said. Jess smiled awkwardly. Winston nodded fervently. Realising that he was all alone in his conviction, Schmidt reluctantly relented.

'Okay, it's maybe a little creepy, but...'

'And that's fine,' Nick comforted him. 'See, we know you. We know that you're basically harmless.'

'Other people: not so much,' Winston added. They contemplated this wisdom in silence for a while.

'So, next time when you think about trying to woo a girl whose name you don't even know, don't go to her place of work. Especially not if she works at Chuck E. Cheese, which is not a place for ridiculous gestures, but for kids' birthday parties,' Nick summed up. Schmidt mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'my mom took me there when I got a promotion,' which everyone chose to ignore.

'Don't bring a boombox,' Winston took over from Nick. He leaned over his seat as to better impress upon Schmidt the importance of what he was saying and ticked don'ts off on his fingers. 'Don't forget the one cue card which makes clear which specific girl your entire stupid gesture is meant for. Don't make cue cards to begin with. Don't wear tearaway pants. Ever. And last, but not least, do not, I repeat, do _not_ take off your shirt.'

Nick was the first one who started to laugh. He pictured the scene.

Schmidt, convinced that a cute waitress had a crush on him, had decided to ask her out. Of course, Schmidt being Schmidt, he couldn't simply ask her out, but had to concoct an elaborate plan.

So, there he was: standing in front of the local Chuck E. Cheese, with a boombox on his shoulder, blasting 'Every Breath You Take' by The Police. That was _the_ stalker anthem, but leave it to Schmidt to completely misunderstand the meaning of the song. He was frantically trying to get his cue cards in the right order with his one free hand. The waitresses and some customers, mainly children, had come outside to see what was going on. By then Schmidt was probably beginning to panic, because he had realised that he had forgotten the all-important cue card identifying the object of his affection.

The missing card had read 'the waitress with the brown hair without the glasses, but with the nice smile,' which was quite possibly the most hilarious thing Nick had never seen.

Because the music was too loud and the dial to decrease the volume was broken, he couldn't tell the gathered crowd who the woman in question was. Instead, he had resorted to his douche bag signature. A desperate situation called for a desperate go-to move, so naturally Schmidt had put down the boombox and taken off his shirt.

Then it had gotten _really _weird. His shirt had somehow gotten stuck to his tearaway pants and off came the pants too. Which was unfortunate, because Schmidt had gone commando. Presumably because he thought that his stunt was going to get him laid. And that was the story of how Schmidt had gotten arrested for baring everything in front of two school classes, one birthday party and an assortment of parents, teachers and waitresses.

In retrospect, with all the kids present, he was lucky that the police had dropped even the charge of indecent exposure after Schmidt had explained what had happened. Apparently, they had decided that public humiliation was sufficient punishment.

Jess dissolved into giggles and Winston's smirk widened. Eventually, even Schmidt started to laugh, albeit rather wryly.

'I think that's a good rule for life in general: don't take off your shirt for no reason,' Nick concluded. He exchanged a glance with Jess as their laughter quieted down. With an incredulous expression on his face, Winston shook his head.

'Hitting on a girl with cue cards and a boombox? Who _does_ that?' he asked. He shook his head again, in complete and total disbelief that someone could be so romantically challenged. It was a thing that still regularly surprised Nick too. How tone deaf Schmidt was when it came to the other sex.

'A stalker. That's who,' Nick reiterated.

'It was romantic,' Schmidt protested. Nick rolled his eyes.

'It sounds pretty stalkerish,' Winston pointed out. Turning to Jess for support, Schmidt pouted. Keeping one eye on the road and one eye on what was going on in the back seat; Nick feared that Jess was going to cave. To his relief, he saw that she averted her eyes with difficulty.

'That's kind of sweet, but also stalker-y?' she offered, attempting to compromise. Seeking Nick's approval in the rear view mirror, she bit her lip. No, he thought; if she can resist the patented Schmidt-pout then I can resist Jess' dorky charm.

'Don't encourage him,' Nick told her and then to Schmidt, 'It's not sweet.'

'I got it from a movie. Two movies,' Schmidt murmured.

'Say Anything and Love Actually?' Jess whispered. Schmidt nodded, still displaying the level of embarrassment the incident merited and looking at the floor. She celebrated her correct guess with an adorable fist pump. Really? Nick thought. _Really?_ Feeling suddenly irrationally jealous, Nick turned on the radio. A grin appeared on his face when 'We built this city' came out of the speakers.

'Hey, it's your song!' he fake enthusiastically yelled at Schmidt and cranked up the volume. Yes, it was mean, but Nick reasoned that Schmidt deserved it.

'You know, I was going to rewrite the lyrics to make it a nice song about you and then I would let one of my classes sing and record it as a present,' Jess confessed.

'_Please_ don't,' the three guys begged. Jess shrugged and shouted Schmidty instead of city when the chorus came on. By some it was regarded as a bad song partly because of its nonsensical lyrics – Marconi plays the mamba; what the hell does that even mean? – but Nick had to admit that it was catchy. He discovered he was mouthing along to the song and Winston followed suit. Sulking, with his arms crossed, Schmidt was the only one who wasn't swayed by the addictive refrain.

'Start singing, Schmidt, or we'll fill Cece in about your arrest,' Winston warned and, hesitantly, Schmidt joined in. Soon everyone was singing at the top of their lungs. Thereafter, the incident was never mentioned again... until Jess got drunk and told Cece.

The end.


End file.
